The oppressive weight of his father's Opus settled in the room, a silent command for truth. Lorenzo instinctively moved to stand slightly in front of his sister, shielding her from their father's piercing gaze. He bowed his head, the picture of a deferential, scholarly son.
"Father. My apologies for the disturbance," Lorenzo said, his voice calm and even. "Bianca was merely overwrought. She has been struggling to master a particularly demanding Movement for her Opus, and I was offering some theoretical guidance." He gestured vaguely towards his stacks of books. "The fault is mine. It seems my esoteric texts have distressed her more than they have helped."
The lie was perfectly tailored to the man he was known to be: the bookish, useless son meddling in things he couldn't truly understand. Duke Valerius' eyes narrowed. He scrutinized Bianca, who flinched but managed to stifle her trembling. To a Maestro of his father's immense power, the subtle, internal chaos of Bianca's Dissonance was likely imperceptible, easily mistaken for simple adolescent turmoil.
"Music is not found in dusty books, Lorenzo. It is commanded by will," the Duke stated, his tone dismissive. He turned his full attention to Bianca. "A Valerius does not falter. Your Opus is a reflection of your spirit. Compose yourself." He gave Lorenzo one last withering glare before turning and departing, the silent pressure of his presence lifting from the room like a physical weight.
The immediate danger had passed, but the reprieve was a fragile thing. The moment the Duke was gone, Lorenzo grabbed his sister's arm, his grip urgent. "That was a warning. We are out of time."
"What can we do?" Bianca whispered, her voice trembling anew.
"We perform a heretic's gambit," Lorenzo replied, his mind racing. "I've read of a place, an old acoustical sanctum in the lower city, built by an experimental Maestro to contain sound. A place of absolute silence. It's our only chance to try this without being discovered."
That night, under the cloak of a moonless sky, they moved like ghosts through the palazzo's forgotten servant passages, a network Lorenzo had mastered over years of avoiding family functions. They slipped out into the sleeping city, the silence of the streets a stark contrast to the growing storm inside Bianca.
They found the sanctum in a derelict sub-basement, a perfectly circular chamber of dark, seamless stone. The moment they stepped inside, the ambient noise of the city vanished. In the profound silence, Bianca's condition escalated catastrophically. She crumpled to the floor, her body convulsing as a low, guttural hum emanated from her throat. Frost, born of a magic that leeched life and warmth, crept across the stone floor around her.
"Lorenzo, it's… I can't hold it!" she cried out, her voice already distorting.
"Don't!" he commanded, kneeling before her, his own heart pounding. "Let it out. Play the broken music. I will be your anchor in the storm."
Terrified but trusting, she locked her eyes on his and nodded. Lorenzo took one last, steadying breath, the scholar giving way to the desperate heretic. He placed his hands on her temples.
The instant he made contact, the stone room, the city, the entire world vanished. He was falling. He was drowning in an endless, screaming tempest of sound and color. Jagged shards of melody shrieked past him like broken glass. The booming of a hundred broken drums threatened to tear his consciousness apart. He was utterly, terrifyingly lost in the beautiful, horrifying chaos of his sister's soul.